


Book Knowledge

by morrezela



Series: Book Knowledge [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Dubious Consent, M/M, Monks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is a monk whose village is being invaded and taken over by raiding Vikings. Jensen is a Viking who is out to plunder something a bit different from his usual fare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Book Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Kripke and the CW and only Chuck Godstiel knows who else. I’m not making anything off of this. I also don’t mod any of the communities in question.
> 
> Warnings: bottom!Jared, kind of kidnapping.
> 
> A/N: Look, this is completely historically inaccurate. Like the liberties herein are almost on the scale of actual porn writing. The portrayal of Vikings and the realism of it is far from right. So: historical flavor, none of those filling historical facts.
> 
> The original prompt can be found at blindfold_spn. There was also a second fill for this during the meme.
> 
> I cleaned and edited this up a bit, so it differs slightly from the original version.

Jared isn’t quivering. He isn’t. He’s just, just cold is all. Shock does that. He’s read about it in his books. Not the ones on display in the grand shelves in the monastery, no, the elder monks would never have such things there. Some of the more rigid of his brothers would even deny that such books should exist at all.

The body, they would argue, is but a shell and learning its ways is the path of sin. Others would simply admonish Jared that his time would be better spent studying his soul and encouraging his spirit instead of reading about his earthly vessel.

At the moment, Jared is wishing that he had paid more heed to the words of his elders. He can hear the sounds of fighting in the village. The battle is lost for certain. Their port has never been a busy one, but Jared knows from his books that such loss of traffic is due to the poor management of the leaders, and their unwelcoming attitudes more than an undesirable location.

Their lack of plunderable vessels has kept them safe from raiders thus far, but their luck has apparently run out, and the village’s unfriendly ways mean that there will be no rescue from their invaders.

Only a fool would believe in the hope of rescue or victory. The men might still be fighting and blood might still be getting shed, but there is no doubt that the villagers will have a new ruler before the sun sets. Their fighting is for show and honor now.

Once the invaders finish with the village proper, it will not take them long to reach the monastery. Jared fears not for his soul, but he has an attachment to his books.

It is fleshly and foolish of him, but he cares not. While the others run about uselessly or cry and wail, Jared hides his beloved tomes under loose stones in the walls and floors.

His anatomy books are already hidden as he feared more radical monks making a pilgrimage to his abbey. They would surely not hesitate to overstep their welcome and destroy a fellow brother’s books in the name of righteousness.

But he has other books as well, and those are not hidden. Some are silly adventures that he reads aloud to the children who come to visit on holy days. They grow tired of the chanting and the sermons and prayers that bolster the faith of the adults, and Jared has always volunteered to be the one to read to them stories that will grow their own faith, but in gentler more child friendly ways.

Other books are ones of plants or animals, faith and souls and just… He doesn’t know how he can choose among them all. It seems unfair that he should have to give up what little he has been given in life.

Jared has never felt any hardship with his status. Other monks have spoken about long, hard nights of indecision as they chose between their calling and the families and love that they would have to leave behind.

Jared has never felt that. His father had counseled him that with puberty would come yearnings that should not be sated until marriage, but when Jared began to grow in breadth and limb, and his voice deepened and hair grew all over his body, his yearnings for the bouncing maidens and their emerging curves never went beyond that of his boyhood.

His member would stand strong and firm against his stomach, and there were embarrassing nights where he would awaken to sticky sheets and unformed dreams, but it was never particularly stirred by the sight of the creamy flesh of bosoms.

Jared had taken it as a sign that he had been chosen to enter the monastery. Surely he had been granted the gift of fleshly sacrifice in order to do the good of the monks.

His father had not understood such reasoning. He had been certain that Jared was simply a late bloomer, one who perhaps was born to be a true gentleman. After all, their blood was that of the founding fathers of the village and many of its leaders were in their family tree. That Jared would have courtesy flowing through his blood, especially given the fine mother he had, would be a shock to no one.

But Jared had been sure of his course and had gone to the abbey to begin his training as soon as he was deemed old enough by the village council. His eyes had been opened with the further education in the reading and writing arts, and his body had grown strong with repairing the mason work and tilling the garden where they grew their food and the food they set aside for the widows and orphans that would dare come to the backdoor begging sustenance that their remaining friends or family either would not or could not provide.

Jared was a favorite of the villagers which was good for him for his own brethren were aloof from him, often not understanding his energetic ways or curious mind. The elders would look fondly upon him for his giving heart, but his peers would look down upon him for his lack of suffering and what they determined to be lack of control.

Perhaps they were right in their accusations. Jared certainly was clinging to what he held dear now that the moment of loss was upon him. Already he had taken his dogs to the basement of the abbey and penned them in an empty, dusty room that was scheduled to be repaired due to its leaking when heavy rains came. It would be the best place for them to survive should the invaders be the heartless kind that set the holy places on fire.

They were mongrels to be sure, pups surviving from unwanted litters between hunting and farm dogs judged to be useless by the owners of the parents. The first had been rescued by Jared as he made pilgrimage to the village on his assigned rounds. It had been his turn to bring down the wine of the abbey to trade for the leather and metal goods that he and the other monks had not the tools or skill to produce themselves.

He would teach goodness and kindness in the village square and try hard not to envy the flex of the blacksmith’s arms as he hammered on whatever piece of metal he was shaping. Jared knew it was a sin to envy, but it was if his own body rebelled against him, hot yearning building in his stomach at the sight of the strong man’s prowess.

Jared had been burning with shame as he returned to his home that day. Penance had been first on his mind as he led the abbey donkey to pull the cart back up the hill to the monastery, and when he happened upon the pups left to die on the side of the road, motherless and tiny, he had taken it as a sign that this was his path of redemption. For envying another’s life, he must provide life for those less fortunate.

He had kept but one of the litter, successfully training the remaining ones to chase vermin from gardens and selling them off to harried farmers and housewives who wished to keep rabbits and rats away from their produce. They were excellent at it, and the head monk had taken no convincing that it would benefit the abbey to keep one to guard their own gardens.

Jared’s other dog had been brought to him by the children of the village. They stole him from a drunkard who had taken to beating his dog once his wife had run away in the night. Jared had felt it a good lesson to bring the poor thing back to health to show the children that good things could come from bad. Even violence and their own caring act of theft.

There is a loud crash at the front of the abbey, and Jared knows he is out of time. With hurried hands, he shoves the few books he has with him into the damp earth of his cell floor and covers it with the stone he had pried out earlier. The stone stands out higher than the rest, but he hasn’t the time to tamp it down properly. It will just have to suffice to save that forbidden knowledge from the heathens.

While the wood and tapestries burn around it, and Jared’s own blood pools on the floor, the stone should be able to protect the books from destruction. Perhaps one day the barbarian children will discover the writing and have enlightenment of their own.

There is shouting and the noise of fighting, and Jared is dismayed to know that some of his fellow monks have obviously broken their vows against violence. Perhaps it makes him a hypocrite to judge them for trying to protect their lives when he himself has just done that, but he has always taken his vows against harm seriously.

He does not leave his cell. His end is sure to be soon, and he would rather sit amongst his books, hidden though they are, than to take one last stroll in the gardens or die grandly with his blood spilling along the marbled floors of the greater halls. He wishes that he could have his dogs with him so that they would not be frightened or alone, but they would for certain attack the invading heathens and die for their attempts at protection.

If they are found in the basement, scared and chained, there is the possibility of them being granted their lives for usefulness. Even barbarians have to know that dogs are only animals, and any snarling they might do would be out of confusion.

The door to his small chamber flings itself open, and Jared has to stiffen all his muscles to keep form leaping from the small wooden chair that has tortured his back for years, but is friendly in its familiarity. He’ll give no resistance to losing his life, and he’ll offer no fight, but he’ll not die a coward. He has too much of his father’s blood in him to die spineless and whimpering. He’ll give no such gift to the invaders.

“Well, now, this is most different.” The deep voice does not echo in Jared’s room. It is much too small for anything to echo in it even when there are no furnishings inside, but he shivers at the sound nonetheless.

He is surprised to hear his own tongue so fluently spoken. Though the accent is different from his own, there is no hesitation in the language that would indicate that the words are anything but old and familiar to the speaker.

As intrigued as he is by the new puzzle, Jared does not look at the newcomer. He has no desire to look upon the face of his murderer. He has no wish for hate to be the last thing he feels.

“I can scarce believe they let you leave the village,” the voice says, and the sound of boot steps scrape close to where Jared is staring steadfastly out of his small window.

A hand reaches out to brush the hair off Jared’s neck, exposing his nape to the barbarian. It is a maneuver made, no doubt, to make severing his head from his shoulders that much easier, and Jared has to suppress his fear by thinking upon the many times that he has been scolded for his vanity and selfish indulgence by not having his locks shorn close like the other monks do.

It just has always felt better to keep it long, and he knows it is a sin of the flesh to cave like he does, but he has never been able to take a blade to it and keep it in proper form for long.

The hand leaves his neck and strokes along the line of his shoulders before tracing the outside of his upper arm.

“Turn around. I wish to see your face,” the man behind him orders.

Jared could refuse. He has nothing that bids him follow this man’s orders, but he is selfish enough to pray for a merciful death, and he hopes that compliance may stir some pitying compassion inside the heathen in his chambers.

Obligingly, Jared turns in the hard chair, but keeps his eyes cast towards the floor. The heathen behind him takes in a gasp of air.

“Sheltered here then,” he comments as if such words are supposed to make any sort of sense.

The hand returns to grasp at Jared’s chin, tilting his face upwards despite Jared’s attempt to keep it down. Stubbornly, he closes his eyes and tries to remember the scent of spring and the vision of newborn lambs frolicking in the meadows. A tear leaks out, and he is ashamed for such a display. He is still a man, still strong though there are those in the village who mock him.

A finger that is not attached to the hand gripping his chin wipes the tear from his cheek. Jared supposes this means that the stranger is still in possession of both his hands, but even that is more than he wished to know.

“Are you mute then? Is that why they sent you to this place when your body is meant for the halls of warriors and craftsmen and your face for the breeding of beautiful women?”

Jared grinds his teeth together and doesn’t answer. It is not so much the words of the barbarian that get to him, he in truth expected much worse, but the fact that such things have been said to him before.

Many a maiden and maiden’s family had tried to sway him from his vows saying that his blood would be a waste. His own features promised handsome sons and beautiful daughters. His strong frame promised strong and hearty sons that could work boats or plow fields, wield hammers or fight battles. His length of limb hinted at willowy daughters that would lead the dances of festivals and bear hearty, healthy grandsons to carry on family names.

They cried when he chose his wit and mind over the promise of his body, and he had spent years forgiving them for thinking him nothing more than a stud to breed the next generation. He has wished eventually to write books and sway others to kindness with his speaking. He has desired to create new flowers and better harvests by his experiments in the gardens. Even now, his first manuscript is nestled between two of his most cherished books. It is a foolish thing, notes on how to train mongrels into worthwhile companions, but it is the closest he will ever get to achieving his legacy.

“Jensen!” Another voice calls out in the hallways.

“Here!” Jared’s murderer calls back.

There is the stomping of other footsteps, and soon enough, Jared can hear the breaths of another man in his room.

“What have you found?” Jared’s murderer, he supposes he can call him Jensen, though he wishes he didn’t know the man’s name, asks.

“Wine, some dried meat and canned vegetables. A bountiful grain silo, though not a grain I recognize. Oh, and two dogs chained in the cellar. Else there is not but books, candle wax and draperies. You know how monks are.”

Jared swallows hard and tries not to fear for his dogs. The other man did not indicate them dead, and Jared would truly rather not know their fate before going to his grave.

“Something disturbs you,” Jensen says, and it takes Jared a moment to realize that he is not speaking to his fellow barbarian.

Jared doesn’t respond, but Jensen rubs his fingertips over Jared’s Adam’s apple. “Men have more ways of speaking than that of their mouths, pretty one.”

“Christian,” Jensen barks a second later, in a less gentle tone than he had used to address Jared.

“Yes?” The second man answers.

“Ask the other monks about this one. His name. His age. His purity.”

“My Lord?” Christian sounds, not hesitant, but surprised.

“You heard me. Oh, and Christian? Ask them if he has eyes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It seems that Jared’s end is not meant to be met on the cold stone floor of his cell. The barbarian called Jensen, Lord Jensen, Jared corrects himself, manhandles him from his chair and marches him out into the hall.

All the paths in the abbey are familiar to Jared, so he can afford not to open his eyes. He has read about mass slaughters and how invaders may prefer to kill all of their captives in one spot to avoid the mess of multiple death sites.

“You are oddly obedient,” Jensen remarks as he marches Jared. “I would expect trickery, but then I always expect trickery.” He sounds amused at his own thoughts, and if Jared were a less righteous man, he would hate the barbarian for it.

They take the path that leads to the gardens, and when the gates swing open and Jared feels sunlight his face, the loud cheering of men startles him.

“HAIL! HAIL!” They shout and scream. “Hail the Conqueror Jensen!”

“Indeed,” Jensen says quietly, but the smugness of his tone indicates he is pleased with the praise of his men.

“Well met, my brave warriors!” He shouts out, seemingly heedless of Jared’s still form beside him. “Today we have claimed our new land. Today we have founded out new home! Treat it well, for I have no desire to find us a new residence, and I have found myself an urge to settle down.”

Jared quite thinks that the raucous laughter of the men isn’t appropriate to the speech that their leader just gave, but he counsels himself that they are barbarians, so perhaps they are not as educated as their leader seems to be.

“Christian! Bring me my horse and your own,” Jensen orders as he begins to march Jared again.

Christian laughs at the request. “Are you certain you wish my own? I would suggest perhaps Thomas’s instead.”

“That flighty beast? Do you think that I want to aid this one’s escape?”

“Are you calling my horse slow, my liege?”

“I am calling it… sturdy and reliable. Much like its owner.”

“You make me sound like a draft horse,” Christian grumbles, but Jared hears the other man stalk off, so he must be marching away.

“I know that you have rather pliant thus far, but you’ll forgive me for a bit of insurance on that matter. I can’t have you running away from me now,” Jensen tells him.

Jared is a bit insulted by the words, but he is mortified when Jensen guides his hands around to his front and binds them together.

“I do hope that they’ve allowed you to ride astride a horse and not saved you from improper stimulation. Otherwise this will be very unpleasant for you,” Jensen says.

Jared doesn’t know what the barbarian is trying to imply, but he can guess the general gist of it, and it both angers and embarrasses him. He is no delicate woman to be coddled.

Climbing on the horse with his hands bound in such a fashion is no treat, and Jared barely manages to keep both his mouth and his eyes shut. He desperately wants to curse at the man who has come to pillage his home.

Jensen, at least he assumes it is Jensen as the touch feels the same, ties Jared’s hands to the pommel of his saddle once he is settled, and soon enough the sounds of squeaking leather indicate that the other man has mounted as well. His horse ambles along after Jensen’s with rather surprising speed. Jared supposes this should indicate that Jensen either is not used to taking hostages or is rather unconcerned with the wellbeing of the one he currently has.

Either prospect is disheartening. The only thing that is becoming obvious is that the heathen leader has some plan for Jared that does not include his immediate demise. He can’t imagine a reason that Jensen would take him to the village proper for the purpose of ending his life.

It is true that Jared has relatives in high places, but Jensen seems to not even know his name at this point, so he could not be assured of any bargaining power. Even if he did seek to strike bargain with Jared’s life, what possible advantage could he be seeking? He has already proven his superior might, and Jared would dare say that the townsfolk that still draw breath will be less apt to try revolt than other towns might have.

Long before Jensen’s attack, Jared had been hearing mumblings amongst the older children and housewives that came to visit him for forgiveness or just advice on their livestock and gardens. They spoke in whispered tones about the way that the leaders of the village were killing them with taxes and restricted imports. How they could not make trade with other villages and how the best of their produce was taken from them.

Some of the women sought forgiveness for doubting their authorities, some just wished to vent to a man who would not betray their worries.

The men did not speak to Jared he was… unsavory to them in some way. At first he had thought it to be his youth, but as he grew older, and his few peers had started to offer aid to the men of the village, Jared had to admit that they were avoiding him for other reasons. He had attempted to speak of it to the elder monks, but they encouraged him not to dwell on it.

When they reach the town square, Jared can smell blood and the acrid scent of smoke, but neither is in the great abundance that he had expected. There are yells and orders being tossed about, and the clinking of chains has Jared tempted to open his eyes to see if those metal links are binding prisoners or hauling heavy items or something else entirely.

Another cheer rises up above the noise of the city. More praises are heaped upon Jensen’s name even though there are shouts of angry men filling in alongside. It is proof that Jensen hasn’t killed all of the men in the village yet, and Jared contents himself with the knowledge.

“Jared!” A little child’s cry rings out above the deep tones of the yelling men, and Jared curses the parent that would allow a young one to see the sight of a battle so soon after its waging.

There is scrabbling and shouting and the horses draw to a stop.

“Jared!” The child cries out again, this time closer.

Without his eyes open, Jared cannot tell which of the children it is, can’t even make out if the child is a boy or a girl, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter. A shriek comes out of the child’s mouth and a man grunts.

“Take it easy on the poor thing, hmm? He’s only a boy and terrified,” Jensen orders calmly. “Besides, he’s given me an answer I sought. He should be rewarded for such diligence to his new liege.”

The crying child is taken away, and Jared can only release a relieved breath. He has seen children punished for less by the men of the village. Getting in the way of horses or even daring to speak to the lords of the town without proper introduction or respect has earned a more than one child a spanking.

“Well then, Jared,” Jensen puts particular emphasis on his name, “I think that we should walk from here, don’t you? Save us from trampling any additional urchins that want to hide in your robes.”

Jared grinds his teeth together harder, but does as Jensen bids when he unwinds the ropes binding Jared’s wrists together.

Even blinded as he is by his own eyelids, Jared can feel the stares of people upon him. Townsfolk and invaders alike are gawking at the spectacle. Instead of marching Jared in front of him, Jensen slides an arm around Jared’s waist.

It makes Jared feel strange. He has seen such touches before from lovers or even drunken friends trying to keep one another upright while walking home from the tavern after indulging in spirits too long, but he himself has not experienced it. His face feels flush, and his body insists on giving him information about his captor that he does not want.

He can feel Jensen’s strong muscles against him. He can feel the place on his hip where a weapon is fastened and the place that his shoulder butts into Jared’s side. The invader is taller than most of the other men. Not as large as Jared, but formidable to most others in size.

He walks Jared to the docks and onto a boat. From there Jared is forced to rely on Jensen’s presence to guide him. This is not a place he has been before to guide his own feet, and he is still clumsy at times, an overgrown colt who has not yet learned the reach of his limbs.

Suddenly, Jared is pushed down, but he falls onto softness. It is a bed of some kind, and its coverings feel smooth even if they are not luxurious. They are finer than the coarse, durable weave of his blankets at the abbey, close even to the finer woven fabrics that his mother had once gotten from wandering peddlers in his childhood when they were allowed to trade in the village without such heavy taxes.

“I don’t suppose that you’re going to talk to me,” Jensen says.

Jared doesn’t answer. He thinks it would be rather disappointing if he did, and he is apt to sin grievously if he opens his mouth now.

“No? How about showing me your eyes? I know they open, but I would very much like to see what color has been bestowed on such a lovely visage.”

Jared doesn’t answer again, but Jensen makes no more comments. It’s a clear waiting game, and Jared has no intention of being the loser. He has spent many an hour in silent contemplation and been punished often for his exuberant chatter. He has learned how to keep silent even if he hasn’t mastered the art of silencing himself once he has begun to speak.

The heathen moves about the room, and Jared hears the sound of a glass being filled. Seconds later, the rim of a glass is being pressed against his lips.

“Drink,” Jensen orders, his breath ghosting across Jared’s face.

He wants to disobey, but he hasn’t stopped to drink or eat since the first screams of attack made their way to the abbey. His thirst is powerful, and when he opens his mouth, he is relieved that it is water that flows in and not wine.

Jensen’s hand rests on Jared’s throat as he swallows, and stays there even when the glass is removed.

In the silence, Jared can hear the sound of Jensen’s own swallows.

“You taste very sweet,” he whispers into Jared’s ear.

Jared cannot help but snort at that. Whatever manner of invader that Jensen is, Jared doubts that he is a cannibal.

“Oh, so you have a voice after all, hmm? And you choose to mock your lord with it? I would think that the monks would have taught you better,” Jensen says, his tone taunting.

Jared, of course, says nothing in response, but Jensen doesn’t speak either. Instead he stays in Jared’s space, touching him without saying or doing anything else, just resting there as if he is content when Jared knows full well that he cannot possibly be.

Loud barking interrupts the silence, and Jared can’t stop himself from taking a quick, deep breath. He knows those yips and howls. His pups are onboard the ship, and obviously alive.

The sounds come closer, and the door that Jensen had moved them through earlier creaks as it swings open.

“Christian!” Jensen yells; his voice the most displeased that Jared has heard it.

“I’m sorry! They’re like oxen!” Christian protests, but Jared pays his protestations no mind. He is besieged by his dogs, they are covering him on the bed, licking at his face in their happiness, and he can’t help but pet and hug them to him, his suppressed fear for their safety coming out.

It is a mistake. A grave one for Sadie is ripped from under his hand a moment later.

“They’re yours then?” Jensen asks.

Jared clings closer to Harley, but nods in answer despite his determination not to give any response.

“I should have known. The rest of your friends were much too concerned with themselves to think to shelter a simple animal. Well then, Jared. How much is this one’s life worth to you?”

Jared swallows and buries his head in Harley’s fur.

“I asked a question, Jared. What would you be willing to spare your pet’s life? A look? A word? Both?” Jensen suggests.

Jared forces himself not to tremble, but he does manage to choke out a, “Please,” from his lips.

“What was that?” Jensen asks.

“Please, don’t. She’s only an animal,” Jared says into Harley’s coat.

“An animal that is important to you,” Jensen corrects, “Now, I wish to see your eyes.”

Jared forces his eyes open though he can feel unmanly tears in them the instant that they are no longer darkened by his lids. So long as they were closed he could pretend to be at peace, in prayer or sleep or other meditation. Once opened, his fear slams into him, his heart pounds and throat tightens, but he turns towards Jensen anyway.

Jensen is tall and handsome, perhaps more comely than Jared himself even with the filth of fighting and pillaging clinging to him. His hair is the color of dark wheat, twisted in braids down his back, but his eyes are the color of grass, soft and green. He’s pale, paler than even the people of Jared’s village, and a new bout of fear goes through Jared at the knowledge that the invading heathens are Vikings, Nordic strongmen who master icy waters and swing hammers of war.

Jensen smiles at him when their eyes meet. “Was that so hard then?”

Jared wants to glare at him, but he is distracted by the need to see Sadie’s wellbeing for himself. He needn’t worry. She is being held back by a shorter man who for all his lesser stature seems harder and more vicious than his leader.

Christian also appears to have a soft spot for dogs as he is feeding Sadie bits of jerky from what Jared knows is Brother Sanford’s private stash of elk meat. Neither Jensen nor Christian even has a weapon drawn.

“Trickster! Deceiver and Liar!” Jared says, his mouth running ahead of him as always.

“If that was the worst thing I had been called or even been this day, I would have no need of priests or monks or forgiveness,” Jensen tells him as he comes to take hold of Jared’s wrist.

Jared jerks it out of his grasp, clinging to Harley instead. Harley who doesn’t see fit to even growl at the strange man touching his master, licks curiously at Jensen’s fingers.

“Remind me to not allow you to train guard dogs,” Jensen comments. He takes hold of Jared’s wrist again, and again Jared pulls away.

“I find it amusing that you would allow me to take you from your home with nary a sound, and now you have no desire to leave my chambers.”

Jared gives in and glares at him, “Murderer.” He isn’t supposed to judge. He knows that, he just isn’t so good at being a monk some days.

“Is death in war murder? I have read much on the subject, but have yet to decide. I think we will have to debate it sometime, but not today,” Jensen says as he reaches for Jared’s wrist again.

This time Jared moves it before he can take hold, and Christian lets out and exasperated sigh from the other side of the room. In the blink of an eye, the short man has yanked Jared to his feet. Standing up, Jared towers above Christian, but he doesn’t feel one bit safer knowing that he outweighs the small Viking.

“Come with me,” Christian orders as he practically drags Jared towards the door.

“Christian!” The name is filled with rebuke, but it doesn’t stop their movement.

“If you’re going to coddle him to death and make a fool of yourself, it is best that the others not see it,” Christian tells Jensen as if there was a whole other conversation going on.

Jared follows behind Christian, not liking the roughness of his grip and fighting back the unwanted anger that such treatment riles in him. He is not a warrior. He teaches through kindness and compassion, and the longer he lives the better his chance of making an impact of goodness in the lives of their new lords.

Christian drags him down into the bowels of the ship, and as they pass crates and stores, Jared doesn’t see weapons or even armor hanging out of the opened boxes. Instead there are linens and finery. There are even some live animals penned in more open crates.

This is not a ship of war. At least, it is not a ship of war so far as his reading has ever indicated that they should be.

“These are not war supplies,” he says to Christian, hoping the man might be willing to give some information in his ire.

“Know much about war do you priest?”

“Monk,” Jared corrects.

Christian’s lips twist in a mocking smile. “Of course. Monk. And no, this ship is not for making war, but we needed her for after we defeated your pitiful town of thieves and cowards.”

“For what purpose?” Jared asks.

“To settle it. Our old towns grew too full, and Jensen too strong for his older brother to keep near. So we left to seek our own fortunes. It took some time to find the right place, but here we are: rich with bounty and now rich with land,” Christian does not sound enamored by the idea.

“You are not happy,” Jared ventures.

“Do not try to counsel me. My loyalty is sharp and my blades sharper. I have no need for words that a willing woman, a good song and a stiff drink cannot provide. Now get in there, and don’t cause trouble,” Christian orders with a shove.

Jared stumbles through the door, and it nearly clips him as it slams shut behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In the middle of the room is a tub, recently filled with water if the splash marks on the floor are any indication. But there are also women milling about. Most of them have long, fair hair and pale complexions, but a few are darker. To Jared’s shock, some are obviously with child.

They look as surprised to see him as he is to see them.

They whisper amongst themselves, their voices lilting in a language he can’t follow. There are words that are similar to others, but the whole jumble of it makes no sense. Eventually one of them approaches him.

“Adrianne,” she says without preamble.

“Jared,” he says back, carefully refraining from making any movement towards her.

“You must get in the tub,” she says, her words halting, but clear.

Jared looks at the water and gamely starts to move towards it. His motion sets off titters of laughter amongst the women, and Adrianne stops his movement.

“Not with those,” she says as if talking to a child who has greatly amused her and gesturing to Jared’s dark brown vestments.

Jared flushes red. “It is improper to be undressed in front of another,” he tells her, hoping that she perhaps does not understand what his robes mean. He knows that the men of the village will bathe in the same streams while hunting, and that they may accidentally expose themselves to one another. Perhaps Vikings are looser with their bathing amongst the sexes as well as just the same gender.

Adrianne smiles at him and reaches for his belt. “It is more necessary to be clean, and Jensen will be very cross if you drown yourself or are not ready.”

Jared wants to protest more, either on the subject of his non-existent suicide or whatever it is that he is supposed to be ready for, but he is suddenly surrounded by women who are stripping him of his clothing. His instinct is to fight, but he cannot harm a woman, especially not one with child.

Once naked, he bolts into the water, desperate for the concealment it offers.

This amuses the women again as they laugh. Adrianne comes over to the tub with a soap and cloth, but Jared snatches them from her hands.

“I know how to clean myself.”

“I am certain you do. Be thorough.”

Jared closes his eyes and tries to pretend that he is not shamefully exposed in a room full of heathens. He will have to teach them propriety for certain. The pregnant ones should not be looking upon a man who is not their husband, and the others should not be staring at the flesh of a man at all.

The water is warmer than that of the monastery, but Jared doesn’t linger. The instant that a bath sheet is placed next to the side of the tub, he moves out of the water and drapes it about him in the most concealing way possible.

He searches about for clothing, but Adrianne takes hold of him and moves him to sit on a stool. He again finds himself surrounded by women, albeit a smaller group than before, as they brush and trim his hair and shave away the day’s stubble from his cheeks letting his short, dark hairs collect on the white fabric of his covering.

When they are finished, they rip his bathing sheet away from him, leaving him naked once more and begin to rub oil into his skin. He shrieks and protests, but their hands keep moving, stroking oil in to his muscles, but leaving his groin alone. It is unseemly and humiliating, but he is spared the indignity of his manhood trying to rise from its soft state.

Eventually, Adrienne holds the bottle of oil out to him. He wants to take it and smash it into the wall, but the look on her face tells him clearly that he knows what he is thinking and that it is a poor plan.

“You can touch yourself, or you can have one of us do it. But it must be done,” she tells him.

He’s confused for a moment before her eyes flick down to the parts of his body they have left unmolested.

Burning in shame, and praying that there is some higher purpose in all of this, Jared takes the oil from her and turns to face the wall, rubbing it over his parts quickly, but generously. He knows that she will check his work, and has no desire for her hands to be there.

“You will need to get between as well,” she tells him once she has taken an eyeful of his shame.

“Between what?” he snaps, anger winning out over fear and confusion.

“Between,” she says again with a gesture that is clearly meant to be getting between two objects.

Jared stares at her like she’s his sister and obviously the most stupid woman on Earth.

She rolls her eyes at him and turns around to grab her own bottom. Jared slams his eyes shut and prays that he be forgiven for seeing that. He has to be. He did not ask to see it, and he felt, as always, no lust at the sight.

“Between,” she says again, and Jared remembers that while they did oil his backside, they kept their fingers clear of his crevice. Then again, they also did not put their fingers in his ears or mouth, so how was he to know?

“Why?” He asks.

Adrianne returns the favor of looking at him like he’s the stupidest person on the Earth.

“You do not want to go dry. It will be painful,” she tells him.

“What?”

“Trust me,” is all she replies.

It’s awkward reaching behind himself to touch a place that he has always spent much time avoiding before. Still he does it, but Adrianne looks unhappy with his efforts.

“No, you must…”

Christian shouts something in what Jared assumes is their native tongue from the other side of the door, and Adrianne yells back. She scowls at his response, and grabs a new cloth. It’s thin and white, and it clings to Jared’s body as it touches his oiled skin.

“Take this. Tell Jensen that you could not get… between,” she instructs as she tightens his hands around the oil bottle before shoving him towards the door.

The walk back to Jensen’s chambers is brisk, and Jared has no desire to speak to Christian. He does have a great desire to hide behind him though as the cloth clings to parts of him that he doesn’t wish exposed.

Christian leaves him unattended in Jensen’s room, but Jared doesn’t have time to strip the sheets from the bed for modesty before Jensen himself returns.

His hair is damp and trailing loose behind him, no longer in its braids. His chest is exposed, and the muscles there make the envy in Jared’s belly flare worse than all the times that he’s been jealous of the blacksmith.

Jensen’s eyes rake over Jared’s form, his eyes tracing the places that the covering clings. “You are more beautiful than I thought,” he tells Jared in a rough whisper, stalking across the floor to stand before him.

None of it makes sense to Jared, not Jensen’s odd compliments to him or the way that his own breath hitches as the other man approaches. Flatteries should be given to maidens, and Jared’s excitement is misplaced. He should be feeling anger or fear or sadness, but all he can feel is the pulse of his heart and all he can see is the way that the candle light flickers against Jensen’s features. It’s like clouds chasing over a sunny sky, and he’s mesmerized by it.

Jensen takes the oil bottle from Jared’s hands and places it on the small table in the room. Turning back to face Jared, he slides a hand around the back of Jared’s neck, the other into his hair and pulls Jared’s face towards his own.

Obediently, Jared follows the unspoken direction. Then Jensen’s lips are pushing against his own. They’re soft and yet demanding at the same time. He can feel Jensen’s exhalations as they come through his nose. He can hear his own heartbeat speed up, and he mortifyingly can feel hardness begin to swell between his legs in a way that it hasn’t in years.

Jared’s eyes fly open in shock. He isn’t even certain when it is that he closed them, but his body’s response shakes him from his stupor. He backs away from Jensen and ends up falling backwards onto the bed when his legs run into it.

Numbly, he runs his hands over his mouth. He can feel moisture there, moisture from the kiss of another man.

“Jared?” Jensen asks as if he is the one who is confused. As if he has the right to feel such a way when all he has done in invade Jared’s homeland, steal him away from the abbey and, and treat him in such befuddling ways.

“You kissed me!” Jared says his eyes snapping with fire.

“You seem intent on accusing me of things that I don’t actually feel guilt over.”

Jared ignores the quip in favor of asking the question he wants, “Why?”

Jensen cocks his head to the side. “I thought that obvious.”

“No! Nothing is obvious. You leave my abbey in one piece; you leave my head on my shoulders. I bury my books to keep them from your torches, yet you don’t set fire to anything. You take me from my home when I am the least of my family and take me to a ship that is not one of warriors and invaders. You seek to take not the spoils of my homeland, but my homeland itself. You do a very poor job of being a plundering Viking!”

“What is it that you would like me to do? Set fire to buildings that will take me months to repair and rape the women and children of the villagers that I need to repair them? I have more plunder than I need in the bellies of my ships. What I need is a home to enjoy them in. This town has been on the verge of collapse for ages. Its neighbors will likely send me even more bounty in hopes of reestablishing trade, and I have no desire to waste it on fixing damage that does not need to happen.”

“But you kissed me!” Jared protests. He’s all very happy that Jensen isn’t going to be planning the utter destruction of the village and its remaining inhabitants, but that doesn’t explain why Jensen would kiss him or take him from the monastery.

“I did. I intend to do more to you than that.” Jensen informs him as he crawls onto the bed with Jared. Brazenly, he straddles Jared’s lap like those loose women that frequent the tavern. They always scurry off the laps of the men when Jared enters, but he’s seen them at it.

Jensen’s proximity makes Jared’s heart beat faster and his breath come in shallow pants. He can smell the scent of workman’s soap on the Viking. It is not the sweetly scented odor of what the women gave Jared to bathe with.

Without another word, Jensen takes Jared face in his hand and steals another kiss. Instead of just pressing his lips against Jared’s, he flicks his tongue out of his mouth actually licking at the place where Jared’s lips press together.

Shocked at such actions, Jared squeaks and shoves at Jensen’s shoulders, pushing the man off his lap and onto the wooden floor of his chambers.

Jensen’s face looks perturbed, but Jared is not going to give him room to make complaint.

“What trickery is this? What madness?” he asks without any expectation of a truthful answer.

Jensen’s ire melts away into his smug amusement. Jared thinks he has seen quite enough of that expression even if it does look good on the Viking’s handsome features.

“I thought you to be an educated man.” Jensen comments as he levers himself up from the floor.

“Such touching is for a man and a woman’s wedding night. I am no woman, and even if I were, we are not wed. You seek to confuse me with these strange bathing customs and heathen actions.” Jared accuses Jensen with the surety of the just. He is certain now that he knows the game that Jensen plays with him.

Taking a deep breath, Jared continues, “You seek to confuse me because of my youth and use my addled mind to sway the opinions of the villagers to align with your side.”

Jensen’s smile seems to double in size at Jared’s words. “I do not know whether to praise you for the parts you got right, laugh at the things that are wrong or kiss you for being so adorable. Monks are not so delicious where I come from.”

“Again with the kisses,” Jared huffs, “I know not what power you think they have.”

“Only the best kind,” Jensen responds as he sits back on the bed and slides a hand up Jared’s thigh, pushing at the sheer material that covers it.

Jared’s member stirs at the touch, and he clenches his thighs together in desperation. He doesn’t know what has possessed it. Something in the oil or the bathwater was perhaps drugged. He has heard of plants that cause odd effects on those exposed.

Jensen makes and inquisitive noise, and his hands slips from Jared’s thigh to slide over his manhood. The touch is eased by the oil covering it, and Jared is mortified to feel it grow thicker and harder as if trying to push itself into the Viking’s touch. It feels good. Better than those long ago frenzied touches of an adolescent boy who had not yet learned to ignore the aching of a changing body.

“Ah,” is all Jared manages to say when he opens his mouth to admonish the man once more.

Jensen makes a pleased, rumbling sound in his throat and shifts his body to press wet kisses along the underside of Jared’s jaw. The gentle touches make Jared’s eyes flutter shut. The darkness only serves to make his skin seem more alive and intensifies the feelings of pleasure that Jensen is causing in him.

Restlessly, Jared pushes his hips into the touch and Jensen pushes his hand down harder. Sparks dance underneath Jared’s eyelids for a second before he regains himself.

“No!” He shouts as he launches himself from the bed. He doesn’t know if he is telling Jensen to stop or if he is denying that his body is reacting so strangely.

He stands the middle of the room, his covering falling about him in a mess, his erection pressing the fabric outwards like a hunter’s tent. He dares not look at Jensen, so he stares at the fabric instead - the way that is clings to his stiffness, the oil making the sheer fabric even more translucent, showing pink where it presses against the red tip of his sex.

“No,” he says forlornly. It is a stupid thing to bemoan. There has been loss in the village. Even though Jensen seems to not want to plunder the place and raze it to the ground, there are losses to be mourned. His flesh arousing itself so late in life is comparably insignificant.

“Surely you knew?” Jensen sounds stunned.

“Knew what? What was there to know? You’ve used your heathen medicines on my body, and it responds now as other men’s do!”

“Jared,” Jensen calls his name in a gentle tone, “come over here.”

“No,” Jared denies the request. He is being used, and he’ll stand firm as long as he can without causing bloodshed.

“Jared,” the tone changes to a harder one, “come.”

“I am not a dog!” Jared shouts back.

Jensen swears in the same tongue that the women were using in the bathing room and storms over to grab hold of Jared’s wrists. Jared struggles, but for all of his superior height and weight, he is no more a match for Jensen than he was the much smaller Christian.

He ends up once more sprawled on his back on the bed, Jensen’s weight pinning him to it. It should frighten him. He should be issuing prayers for his life, but his body likes the warmth and overly heavy weight of the other man pressing into him.

“It is true then, what your fellow monks said of you. Not only pure, but kept innocent by great pains and dedication. Christian will be unhappy. He wished to punish some of them for lying.”

“It is an evil man who wishes to harm a monk.” Jared tells him.

“It is an evil man who wears the robes of a holy man and then sleeps with other men’s wives as have some of your brethren. And it is a selfishly evil man who would take a holy man as his own because he cannot make himself choose another. No Jared, in this Christian is the far better man than I.”

“I have never suggested that either of you were good,” Jared points out.

“That you have not,” Jensen agrees as he rolls his hips against Jared. It makes the fabric of Jared’s covering tug across his cock. Jensen’s weight has effectively pinned it against Jared’s own belly, and the pressure and friction make him want to push upwards and rut.

“What are you doing?” Jared gasps. His body is telling him that it wants and craves release, but this is not his marriage bed for he has no wife.

“Attempting to make love to my chosen,” Jensen answers him.

The words do not make sense. “I am not a woman.”

“You mentioned that before,” Jensen points out, but his hips thankfully quit their distracting motions.

“Such things are done between a man and a woman in their marriage bed. We are both male.”

Jensen smirks and steals another kiss form Jared’s lips. “I hate to inform you of this, but such things are also done between a man and another man, and in my town I’ll not be allowing any other sort of notion spread.”

“It is unnatural!” Jared protests.

“Your body does not think so.”

“You have tricked it, drugged it.”

“And you have never felt this way before? Never felt the stirrings of lust while looking upon another man?”

Jared glowers at the Viking. “Envy is a sin that I have often done penance for.”

“Envy, Jared? Is that what they told you it was? The men of the town didn’t think so, cursing your name as the reason that God had brought us down upon them. The Abomination they called you. The heathen allowed to live in the holy place. They sought to kill your father and mother for bringing you into the world instead of killing their worthless leaders who had left them so open and desirable a target.”

The words hurt, but Jared, despite his vows to a higher call, still cares about his family, and they matter more than the hurtful words of other villagers.

“My mother?” He asks softly.

“Begged me to spare her son’s life while her husband tried to shush her and drag her away from the invading warlord,” Jensen told him. “She grabbed hold of my boot and would not let go, determined to save you and swearing the men liars.”

“And her life?” Jared prompts.

“Spared. Your father’s as well as he managed to pry her fingers from me. I couldn’t kill the parents of my consort, now could I? It would make you angry with me.”

“Consort?”

“I trust you know the term?” Jensen says as he begins to roll his hips again.

“I do, but…”

“Then you know that it is your job to pleasure me, and I, in turn, will pleasure you and allow you to… do whatever it is that you do when you’re not chaining dogs in basements and hiding books in floors.”

“I edify the people through teaching and counseling and living a pious life,” Jared tells him indignantly.

“Yes. That. Only less piety and more, effusive happiness and support for your new lord and lover.”

Jared frowns. It isn’t the worst sort of bargain, and he can feel how his body thinks that this would be a pleasurable pursuit. He has not heard of such matings with a man, but that does not mean that it has been taught against either. If he were to agree to Jensen’s scheme, it would put him in a position to grant mercy and leniency and even to keep tabs on Christian’s violence.

Still…

“You are not my husband.”

Jensen moans. “I should have just taken you in the abbey when you were quiet.”

“I would have fought you and bitten you and…”

Jensen places his hand over Jared’s mouth. “I know. That is why I did not do it. If it means so much to you, I will have a ceremony. Invite the whole village and wed you like a proper husband, but I will not allow you to leave my bed a virgin tonight. I have enemies that would despoil you.”

Jared gives the slightest of nods, and Jensen removes his hand. He seems surprised that Jared has nothing else to say, but doesn’t hesitate long over his surprise. He places his lips against Jared’s quickly before moving off him.

It seems unfair that Jensen is halting their proceedings now that Jared has agreed to them. The Viking isn’t giving up on his vows or changing his entire…

Jared’s thoughts blow away like pollen in the air as Jensen removes his breeches. His manhood is strong and thick. The sight of it makes Jared’s own groin throb with lust. His heart is pounding so hard that he has to swallow to ease the feeling that it is going to fly right out of his chest.

Jensen’s smirk returns as he prowls, Jared has no other word for it, back to the small bed and crawls on top of him. He doesn’t hesitate to claim Jared’s lips again, and this time, Jared puts an effort into the kiss. It’s sloppy, he knows, but it feels better even with just that little bit of extra effort.

Jensen moans again, but this time it seems a great deal more appreciative. While he doesn’t release Jared’s lips from the kiss, he does start to stroke at Jared’s body, his fingers slipping over oiled skin easily only to run into the cloth Jared still has tangled around him. Jensen tugs at the covering, making frustrated grunts when it doesn’t immediately give way, swearing in that strange tongue under his breath.

The grunts do something to Jared’s libido. Maybe it is their desperation or just the way that they make Jensen’s breath push against Jared’s skin, but he responds to them in a way that he is certain he should not. His body feels only want, and he gives into his desires, twisting and turning to help rid himself of the offending fabric until Jared is as naked as the raider on top of him.

Jared can feel Jensen’s erection press against the planes of Jared’s stomach. It’s hot and hard, and when Jensen grinds down, it shoots little bursts or fire through Jared’s veins.

He isn’t sure how it happens, but his own hand finds its way to tangle in the long locks of Jensen’s hair so that it cradles the back of the Viking’s head while they kiss. Their bodies slide together slickly because of the oil, and the feeling makes Jared rolls his hips up, trying to feel that sensation more firmly against his hardness.

“Good,” Jensen says encouragingly, his voice hoarse rasp in Jared’s ear.

Jared whimpers and repeats the motion, his body rewarding him each time he does it, and Jensen reinforcing the behavior by grinding back against him. Jared can feel the way that he is growing harder and the way that his body is tightening. It’s a familiar sensation even if it is one that he has been discouraging himself to have for years. Still, it’s almost shocking when his balls tighten, and his body delivers its seed.

It is both scandalous and pleasurable, the way his body arches up of its own volition into Jensen’s while he makes a mess of their stomachs. His seed is plentiful between them, and Jared tries to push Jensen away in embarrassment, but the man only grinds harder down, smearing and spreading the fluid on their skin.

“Jared,” he moans.

“Yes?”

“So beautiful, so strong and manly,” Jensen whispers as he places biting kisses on Jared’s throat. They sting before they blossom into pleasure, but it is the words rather than the actions that have Jared’s face turning color.

Strong he may be, but manly is not a word that the people use for their monks and beautiful is almost blasphemous. He is ashamed to find that he likes the praises. Where the compliments and flirtations of the young women had never tempted him, he finds that he craves the words coming from the raider’s mouth.

“Roll over,” Jensen orders as he pushes himself off Jared and holds himself at an awkward angle above him.

“Why?” Jared asks even as he complies.

“Because it will make coupling easier,” Jensen tells him as he settles his weight back down against Jared’s body. The sensation is different from how it was before. Where being chest to chest felt natural, the feeling of the other man’s weight being draped against Jared’s back feels, not wrong, but forbidden.

It feels like he is giving away some power or making some concession, and the sensation makes Jared’s skin break out in gooseflesh. His manhood is sensitive where it presses into the sheets below him, but it begins to stir at the feeling of Jensen’s weight pinning him to the mattress.

Jensen mouths at the back of Jared’s neck, pushing his hair out of the way, and he continues his kisses down Jared’s spine, shifting on the tiny, narrow bed until he ends his trail of kisses with a sharp nip to the end of Jared’s tailbone.

Jared jerks against the sheets at the sting of the bite, and his cock cannot decide whether it feels pleasure or pain at rubbing its sensitive self against the weave of the bed coverings.

His indecision on the matter evaporates from his mind in the next moment when Jensen’s fingers slide into his crevice, probing into that hidden place that has not been touched by another since Jared was in diapers.

Instantly his muscles tense, the globes of his ass squeeze together and his back stiffens. “What are you doing?” He asks softly.

“You aren’t prepared.” Jensen comments instead of answering Jared’s question. “Women! I ask them to do one thing, and they do another. They manage to put enough oil on you to care for saddles for an entire herd of horses, but they fail to prepare you.”

“Prepare me for what?” Jared asks.

“Coupling,” Jensen says slowly.

“But I’m not,” Jared stops himself from declaring himself not a woman and tries, “I haven’t an… opening.”

Jensen’s fingers move to trace over Jared’s hidden place and push against it gently. The feel of it makes Jared blush harder.

“Your friends hid much from you, I fear in an attempt to save you from yourself or something equally as noble, but if you wish to be other than my consort, if you wish to be my husband, then consummation is necessary.” Jensen tells him.

“This is the way of your people?” Jared asks.

“It is the way of my people in my village now.” Jensen says, clearly avoiding answering Jared’s question directly.

“And your old village and town?” Jared asks, unwilling as ever to let a subject just drop.

“It is unimportant,” Jensen tells him as he levers off the bed to retrieve the small bottle that Adrianne had sent with Jared earlier.

“This will take a while, but I promise that any discomfort will be rewarded,” he says as he walks back to the bed.

Jared averts his eyes from the sight that Jensen makes. He did not understand the purpose of the oiling before. He had thought that perhaps it was some heathen ritual, and at one point it may have been, but he suspects now that it was done only to help incite the lust of their lord.

Jensen’s skin glows in the places where the oil has transferred from Jared’s body to his own. The sheen seems to make his muscles more defined, and more embarrassingly, Jared can see the remnants of his own release clinging to the man’s lower body.

Jensen doesn’t speak as he dribbles oil into Jared’s crevice, and doesn’t even do anything but croon reassuringly as he works his first finger into Jared’s hole. It feels odd and intrusive, but at the same time there is an echo of pleasure in it. Maybe it is the thrill of the unknown or the chase of the forbidden, but whatever it is, the skin around Jared’s entrance feels alive for being touched so intimately.

When Jensen works his second finger in, he manages to make actual encouraging words. The second finger feels full and tight and strange, but even as Jared’s mind fights with itself over the unnatural feeling of something pushing in, his cock fills with blood, clearly pleased with the intrusion, and Jared resigns himself to feeling conflicted.

The third finger is a shock. Jared is certain when Jensen starts pushing against his hole that it will not fit, but a little wriggling, and it pops in along the other two. It’s painful for a moment before it starts feeling good. Then it starts feeling very good as Jensen begins to rub his fingers on the inside of Jared’s channel, and the sensations have Jared pushing back on the fingers seeking more.

His cock is heavy with blood, and his nipples ache in a way that he would have sworn them incapable of doing. He wants something more. Either Jensen knows this or Jared somehow manages to tell him because Jensen removes his fingers and slicks his own hardness with even more oil.

From his position on the bed, Jared can’t see everything. There is only so far that his head can crane around to look. But the sight of Jensen touching himself in such a manner increases the want inside of Jared.

It is madness to be sure. Heathen madness, his brothers would assure him. Jared knows that Jensen intends on putting his penis inside of him. Not an hour before Jared would have sworn the mere notion of any man desiring such a thing to be ludicrous. But now his body is fairly screaming for the sensation. He wishes to be penetrated and filled with the hard length that juts out between Jensen’s thighs.

When Jensen tugs at Jared’s hips, he complies eagerly. The new position takes away his ability to rut against the sheets, but it seems a good deal better for what Jensen has in mind as there is almost immediately a pressure against his hole.

Jensen’s thickness is bigger than his fingers, and it burns as he pushes in, but the pain is negligible. It feels good. It feels dirty. Most of all it feels right in a way that Jared and all of his books would be at a loss to explain. It’s like something he has never understood about himself suddenly makes sense.

It is a ridiculous notion, of course, that he didn’t know himself before, but as Jensen begins to thrust, Jared finds that he doesn’t have the brain power for philosophy at the moment. The drag and push of being penetrated, thrust into and taken makes his blood pound. He can hear moaning in the small room, and he knows that it isn’t coming from Jensen. It can’t be because Jensen is babbling out encouragement and praises.

Jensen is stroking his hands over the skin of Jared’s back, tracing muscles and bone. He is telling Jared of his power and beauty and strength, encouraging Jared’s vanity where he had virtually none before.

More importantly, he is pushing against that spot inside of Jared that feels so good. His short jabs and long pushes are forcing his thickness to rub against that sensitive area and cause Jared pleasure. It makes Jared yearn to reach the point of release again. His cock is hard against his belly and his balls tight behind it.

Jensen shifts, and the new angle takes pressure away from that spot, but before Jared can vocalize his unhappiness with the new position, Jensen’s hand wraps around Jared’s erection. He strokes it and rubs at its leaking tip. His large hand dances over the flesh and tugs, his fist amazingly tight and warm.

Jared spills again, his orgasm short and fierce. Jensen groans above him, and his hips go from measured to frenzied. The force of them stings the back of Jared’s thighs as their skin slaps together, and then Jensen finds his own release, leaving his seed inside of Jared’s body.

They collapse into a pile. Jensen makes noises about cleaning and stickiness, but he doesn’t seem to have the strength to move. His weight is heavy though, so Jared uses his superior strength to twist and turn until they’re more or less on their sides in the small bunk.

The day has been strange and full of learning. It has turned out better than Jared had expected, but he is still confused by many things. He expects that this will continue to be the case even as he tries to give aid to the people just like he has always done.

He has lost a good deal of his identity in the actions that he has just partaken in, but he perhaps was always meant to take those steps if his body’s reactions are any indication.

There will be time to discover the answer. But he thinks that he might now have something of value to put in a book of his own.


End file.
